On Deflating the Self-Ego for Growth in Spiritual and Emotional Maturity
There was a time in my life when being right felt essential. In meetings, in relationships, even in casual conversation, there was a subtle insistence that my voice be heard, my view be validated. I wasn’t arrogant in the loud sense of the world. But I carried, quietly and consistently, a tightly stitched version of myself — one that knew, one that advised, one that stayed composed. A version I didn’t question.
Then one day, my aunt said something that landed like a whisper, cutting through noise: “You don’t always have to be the answer.”
That moment did not bring shame — it brought relief.
Ego is a curious thing. It isn’t always loud or boastful. More often, it hides in our most “reasonable” selves, in the urge to control outcomes, to appear wise, to defend even the softest of intentions. It wears many robes: success, self-respect, identity, clarity. But underneath, it quietly fears irrelevance.
And so it builds quietly, a beautiful fortress of self around our thoughts, our achievements, even our wounds.
The journey toward emotional and spiritual maturity, I’ve come to believe, is not in becoming more, but in becoming less — Less reactive. Less rigid. Less self-defining. And in that less, something remarkable begins to unfold — More space. More peace. More connection.
This is not self-erasure. This is self-expansion. A shift from the me who must prove, to the me who can simply be. A move from identity as armor, to presence as offering.
Of course, the ego resists this undoing. It fears being unseen, unheard, unimportant. But the deeper truth is that when we deflate the self-ego, we do not disappear. We return. We return to our essential self, one that doesn’t need to dominate a room to feel whole. One that can listen without preparing a response. One that can apologize without losing dignity. One that doesn’t confuse silence with defeat.
In daily life, now I try to practice this gentle art of becoming smaller. I pause before interrupting. I soften when I feel the rise of “But I know better.” I let go of the last word. Sometimes, I watch my own discomfort as I fade into the background of a group, and realize — nothing terrible happened.
We live in a world that often mistakes volume for value. But there is great power in subtlety. Great depth in humility. The trees that grow tallest are often the ones that bend most gracefully with the wind.
If today you feel the pull to defend, to assert, to be seen — pause. Ask gently, “Is this my truth speaking, or my ego?”
And if it is the latter, may you have the strength to smile and step back.
There is freedom in that retreat. There is maturity in that silence.
There is “you”, becoming whole — by becoming less.
Letters for the Inner Journey by Pushkar
Whisper back, if the letter spoke to you.